


Rescue from Above

by JantoJones



Series: Further Brief Briefings [23]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-28 06:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16235786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones





	Rescue from Above

The sky was the exact shade which had given its name to the colour, sky blue. It was dotted with fluffy white clouds, more akin to something from a child’s painting than what was usually found in reality. They were being propelled across the expanse of blue by a listless breeze. Those same breaths of air caused the green grass of the countryside to ripple like a lake, and the bright, yellow ball of the sun bathed the area in a welcoming warmth. The scene could almost have been described as idyllic, if it wasn’t for the bleeding, semi-conscious man, and the extremely dead man beside him. One was an impeccably dressed brunet, and the other had been a black-clad blond.

Napoleon Solo concentrated on the clouds above him, attempting to recognise shapes within them. He was willing to try anything to take his mind off gunshot wound in his hip while he awaited rescue. The pain was excruciating, but Napoleon refused to succumb to it. He wanted to be awake when his salvation arrived. Mr Waverly had assured him, when he’d called in for help, that a helicopter would be with him within fifteen minutes. That had been fourteen minutes ago. 

Solo turned his head and looked at the back of what was left of the blond head beside his. He couldn’t see his face, but neither did he particularly want to. Whatever features had once been there had all but been obliterated by a bullet, at point blank range. There would be no rescue for him.

The sound of rotor blades drew his attention back to the sky and, within a minute or two, Napoleon found himself flanked by two people. The medic, on one side, immediately got to work on treating his wound. On his other side, Illya Kuryakin looked down at the dead man.

“Thrush?” he asked his partner.

Napoleon nodded, too weak to vocalise an answer.

While Solo was loaded onto the helicopter by the medic and the pilot, Illya wrapped the body in a tarpaulin and dragged it to the vehicle. For all it was in an isolated area, he didn’t want to leave it until a clean-up crew could get there. As he covered he was hit by an involuntary shiver. He wasn’t at all squeamish, and the sight of the man’s destroyed face didn’t really affect him all that much. However, whoever the man was, he seemed to have been of similar height and stature to himself, and Illya found it hard to dispel the idea that he was manhandling his own corpse.


End file.
